The Best Kind of Medicine
by i.sit.in.shadows
Summary: Drabble. Dr Beverly Crusher plays counselor to a distressed ensign in Ten Forward.


Disclaimer: One can look at what is and ask "why?", another can look at what isn't and ask "why not?" ....Because I could get sued, that's why. I own an N64, a tube of Chapstick, I own a cat.... But not Star Trek. No, not Star Trek.

(A/N: Please go easy on me, I've never had to work with these kinds of characters before, so there's sure to be excessive OOCness and inaccurate stardates. Just bear with me and I promise not to write another TNG fic again lol. The thing is, I was woken up by the idea at close to one in the morning, was half-dazed, and am too embarrassed by its lack of detail to keep revising it. So, I'm putting it up as-is. Please hold the tomatoes haha)

Enterprise - Stardate 25661.4

"Well then, if there's nothing more, you're all dismissed." This from the captain, who sat behind the desk in his Ready Room, his chin perched thoughtfully on his hand.

As the few members of his seniour staff (whom he'd invited in light of their opinions on the matter) turned to leave, Captain Jean-Luc Picard contemplated his latest issue as commandeer of the flagship. It would seem that he was being accused by an admiral of the Federation, of being 'under-socialised' in reference to his absence during most of the 'higher gatherings', of which said admiral was the gracious host each year.

Right now, however, the captain failed to see how such an allegation could've come about.

Whilst every other crew member had filed out of the small room, CMO Beverly Crusher stayed to ask something of the captain in private.

Picard looked up at her after noticing her remaining presence. "Yes, doctor, what is it?"

Beverly smiled kindly. "I would just like to say that I don't quite see you as 'under-socialised'. Admiral Hihnes made it sound as if you've never attended any of the annual congregations. How many gatherings have you _actually_ talked your way out of?"

The captain took on a sort of amused expression, his fist still cupping his chin. "As a matter of fact, I'm afraid the Admiral's accusation in that matter is more accurate than not. I believe I've used just about every excuse in the book that would keep me away from those damned things. And in my desperation, I've probably even written a few on my own."

Dr Crusher smiled and stood up from the chair in which she'd been sitting. "Well, how about you prove that Admiral wrong." she said. "We could have dinner? Tonight. I can leave Dr Selar in charge of Sick Bay for a few hours--"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, doctor," Picard cut her off apologetically. "I'm afraid I have a screen conference this evening with that very Admiral to discuss the Fleet's current positions. Perhaps another day?"

Beverly looked disappointed, and the captain felt a brief pang of regret. But an instant later, understanding replaced the doctor's expression and she straightened her labcoat. "Sure," she said quietly, smiling beautifully before turning to leave.

Picard sat back and folded his arms across his chest with an air of deep thought, sighing through his nose.

S/TS/TS/TS/T

A half-hour later, Beverly Crusher sat alone in Ten Forward, having just received her beverage from the temporary waiter, and was sipping through its straw tentatively, as if time itself might slow if she drank it that way.

Scanning the bar/restaurant, the doctor came across the usual sight of officers enjoying friends, family, or even the stars that occupied the entire aft wall. Eventually, however, her eyes were left to rest on one officer in particular. Dil Horaque -- an ensign who'd been assigned to the Enterprise little over a three months ago. He and another ensign -- Ensign Kahr -- had come aboard together as a team. Both were students of Navigation who, with combined brain power, had their ideas and theories (concerning flight path tactics) utilised effectively in minour battle.

Unfortunately, only two days ago, after an unanticipated encounter with the fire of a particularly edgy Romulan Warbird, Ensign Kahr was killed when her console exploded.

Horaque had insisted that he remain on-duty, even though Counselor Troi had recommended otherwise. It seemed that the ensign had thrown himself into his work -- hard. He'd become noticeably introverted in the few days since Kahr had been killed; and even now, as he sat near the window, alone, he looked as if he had yet to shed a single tear over her.

Debating whether it was the right thing to do, Dr Crusher finally made her choice to attempt to talk to the ensign, get him to let out some of the pressure he was most certainly suppressing.

Horaque looked up as she approached his table, her face all smiles and more than inviting, as usual. His fingers fiddled on the glass of his drink, becoming more anxious as Beverly asked to join him.

"I guess so, ma'am," he muttered.

Beverly didn't take it offensively. He was young (probably no more than eighteen) and clearly upset; those reasons were enough to justify the involuntary rudeness.

"You looked like you could use a friend."

"So you know who I am... or rather, who I _was_." He turned away. "I've heard it's better to isolate oneself after tragedy. It heals quicker."

Beverly noticed the sadness in his voice. The loneliness, the despair.... Everything that came in a set with loss. "In some cases, it might not always be best to heal fast. Maybe time truly _is_ what you need. And perhaps a shoulder?"

The ensign caught the unconscious tear, and promptly wiped it away with the sleeve of his uniform. His light hair lost its neat perfection as the boy ran his fingers though it miserably. "Crying won't change the situation. And it won't bring her back."

"No -- it won't. But it might help make you feel better."

"_Might_," the young man snapped. He gently huffed a few times in an apparent attempt to maintain the stone-hard composure he'd so easily lost. Finally, after minutes had passed, the wetness that brimmed his eyes thickened. "I'm not willing to risk self-dignity for a _chance_ at contentment." Horaque scowled at himself and faced the window that over-looked the deep void of space. It was easy to lose oneself in the feeling of vacuity that the black expanse permitted. Too easy.

Dr Crusher wasn't so sure anymore about her tactics regarding what should be said. Instead of thinking about it, she subtly decided to stop speaking to the ensign as if she were consoling her son, and tried a completely different strategy. One that Counselor Troi would most probably find inappropriate for the situation. It was a long-shot, and she barely knew this young man enough to determine its probable effectiveness. But, nonetheless....

She leaned forward on the table, adopting a knowing look... and almost backed down from her next intention when she saw the pain in the boy's eyes as he looked on into space. But she had to try it this way: "Maybe that's what Ensign Kahr would have wanted. For you to actually mourn her death instead of putting the face of your career on the top bar."

Sparks flared in the ensign's eyes. He jerked his face toward her with an irate expression playing about his tearless features. "How dare you," he seethed calmly. "Kahr was my friend. We went way back to Freshman year at the Academy. I can't tell you how many times she took the fall for my own stupid mistakes, how many times she got punished and reprimanded for hanging around with an idiot like me when I was young and flying by the seat of my pants. She was my best friend, my conscience, and more. The best damn officer Star Fleet would've _ever_ had the honour of utilising. And there is _nothing_ I want more, right now, than to fall to my knees and beg whatever god is out there to take me instead." By now, the ensign had let more than a few tears escape his guard. They ran down his face and onto the table, resting in small rivulets that quivered like his misplaced guilt.

Beverly didn't mind the lack of respect for her superiour rank in his quiet outburst. In fact, it was what she'd been hoping to induce - and, not surprisingly, it hadn't taken much. Sometimes, the best way to fix a damaged heart, is to first let it break completely. She waited for him to look her in the eye, and when he finally did, she smiled sympathetically. "You might have to move forward for the both of you now."

"She always wanted me to be the best that I could be," he said, sniffling and wiping his eyes briskly.

"But you have to redeem yourself in your own eyes first," Beverly told him, much like how Troi would have said it.

"Exactly," the ensign nodded sadly. "--make up for the jerk I was at the Academy. I can't let myself break down; I have to stay fit for the fight that comes with being an officer."

The good doctor smiled and loosely took the ensign's hand. "Well, you know what they say: 'That which does not kill us, can only make us stronger'. It's going to be rough, the road to healing. Just make sure you go easy on yourself; allow yourself some time every now and then --to be the friend she knew."

The ensign sniffed one last time, then stood up, tugging on his uniform in the manner that had come to be known, secretly, as the 'Picard Manoeuvre' - to straighten out any wrinkles. He looked down at Beverly... and smiled - signs of contentment and relief betraying the angry tears that had so quickly stained his cheeks.

"Thank you."

Beverly smiled back and nodded. She watched as the cadet turned and paced out of Ten Forward slowly, but with ease; most likely en route to his quarters to recuperate properly. Their conversation had been very brief, but all she could do was watch sadly as her own feelings gradually occupied her thoughts.

This ensign was no doubt one of many, many innocent lives -- all species alike -- who were the true sufferers of these wars. At first thought, we all mistake the fatalities as the victims. But when the meaning of the word runs deeper, it's not hard to realise that the actual casualties are the ones who are left to mourn. The torture of guilt, the questioning of events, the hearts left to rebuild.... is agony in itself.

But in time, every wound seals.

Every bone knits.

And eventually, the pain can stop. If you let it.

"He's going to be fine...." Beverly whispered conclusively.

*Picard to Dr Crusher.*

She tapped her commbadge patiently. "Captain."

*I was wondering... if you were, perhaps, still available for dinner. Tonight?*

A growing smile dawned on the doctor's face. "I would be delighted, Jean-Luc. But what happened to your conference?"

*I would appear that my scheduled meeting with the Admiral has been --unexpectedly reprieved.*

"Oh? By whom?"

There was a pause.

Finally, with a smile in his voice, *... A certain _under_-socialised captain.* Beverly chuckled under her breath. The captain had managed to postpone his own execution. *Shall I expect you?*

"Of course."

*Splendid. Picard out.*

Yes, _everything_ was going to be just fine.

(A/N: Reviews are like crack to me:) )


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